


How to Make Friends

by Snickfic



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Boston Bruins, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Post-Game(s), Rivalry, Situational Dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: “You’ve got a lot of nerve, asking for me,” Rask said. Bryan tried to close the door with some swagger. What he had was not so much nerve as nerves. “Game winner gets to pick anyone, that’s the rule.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Las](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las/gifts).



> For Las, who enabled me.

The room was just a little one off the main storage rooms, barely big enough for the bed. Rask was already sitting on it, elbows propped on his thighs. He was wearing sweatpants and that was all. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, asking for me,” Rask said. 

Bryan tried to close the door with some swagger. What he had was not so much nerve as _nerves_. “Game winner gets to pick anyone, that’s the rule.” It all came out in one quick, stuttered string, hardly a pause, and Bryan wondered if Rask would make fun. Nobody said the guy you picked couldn’t talk back.

But Rask just looked at him from under those devil eyebrows. Measuring him up. Bryan lifted his chin. Rask said, “You don't pick the goalie unless you’re asking for it.”

“You came,” Bryan pointed out.

“Not yet,” Rask said. 

Bryan blinked at him. Rask looked back, not even a glimmer of humor on his face. Bryan swallowed. “Okay, right. Um.” Bryan looked down at himself, at his briefs that he’d slipped on because it seemed like a good idea at the time, even though there was literally no one between the locker room and here that hadn’t seen his dick a dozen times.

“So what do you want?” Rask asked flatly.

Tommy had asked the same thing in the showers. _You gonna fuck his mouth? Or his ass?_

 _What’d you do last time?_ Shears had chimed in. _You never said._

But looking into Rask’s unimpressed face, Bryan was pretty sure that what had been good with Vasilevskiy wouldn’t go over so well here. “Fuck me?”

“What?”

Bryan shimmied out of his briefs to avoid seeing Rask’s face. He climbed up onto the bed and then stretched out on it long ways, behind Rask. “Fuck me,” he said again, and pressed his face into a pillow. The cool air prickled across his skin.

Rask twisted, nudging Bryan’s ribs – with his knee, maybe. “You wanted to take it in the ass, you could have let us win.”

Bryan laughed. “Yeah, right. Nobody was gonna pick me. Do you even know who I am?” He didn’t give Rask time to answer. “‘Who the fuck is Bryan Rust?’” He giggled over that a little too long, until he was lightheaded, and oh yeah, there were those nerves.

“Fuck,” Rask said. He heaved a sigh and got off the bed, and for one panicked moment Bryan thought he’d left, rules or no rules, but when Bryan glanced over his shoulder it was to see Rask shucking off his sweatpants. There was his ass, lily-white and a little flatter than your average skater’s ass, but nothing to sneeze at. For just a moment, Bryan wanted to say he’d changed his mind. But then Rask turned, and Bryan remembered what it was he really wanted. Rask’s dick hung long and pink between his legs, and it was enough to make Bryan’s mouth water. Even though his mouth wasn’t getting it, this time.

Rask caught him looking. He snorted. “You actually want to do this.”

“Yeah,” Bryan said. Lying seemed pointless.

Rask shook his head. “I was not fucking planning on having to get it up tonight. Not after that.”

“You had a good game,” Bryan said. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. Obviously,” Rask said. He sat back on the bed. “Fuck, give me a minute to warm up.”

Bryan didn’t point out that yeah, actually that was why Rask was here. What was the point in picking the guy who did bad? But words had never been Bryan’s friend, so instead he sat up on his knees and crawled over next to Rask, hip to hip. He let his hand fall over Rask’s, on his dick. “Let me?”

Rask huffed, but he moved his hand to give Bryan room to move. Rask was still lax, unmoved by the prospect of fucking Bryan’s ass, which seemed a bit insulting, not that Bryan was going to hold it against him. “Maybe some lube?”

There were packets of it on the table at one end of the bed. Rask handed him one, and Bryan squirted some out onto his fingers and took Rask in his grip. Rask hissed. “Cold,” he said.

“Sorry.” Bryan slid all the way up to the root and then slowly down, just mapping the landscape. He thumbed over the head, and Rask jumped in his hand. Bryan pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. He didn’t think Rask would appreciate it. Instead he just kept working, and slowly but surely Rask responded, plumping warm and increasingly solid in Bryan’s hand. 

“Hey,” Rask barked. Bryan froze. “You want me to be good for anything else, you should stop pretty soon.”

“Awesome,” Bryan said. He wiped the excess lube on Rask’s thigh – Rask did not respond – and then he stretched out the way he had before. This time he tucked a pillow under his crotch. The friction of the mattress felt good on his dick, not fully hard but interested in the proceedings. Rask wriggled, enjoying the little sparks of pleasure, and then he opened his legs.

“Fucking weird,” Rask said, but he climbed up behind Bryan, knees bracketing Bryan’s thighs, and he sat back on his heels. “Lube,” he said, half a second before his finger pressed to Bryan’s hole. He paused there, like he was waiting for a signal. Bryan pushed back against the pressure, and that seemed to be enough for Rask. He slid the finger inside. Bryan let out a long breath. Rask had been right: it _was_ cold. Rask slicked Bryan up swiftly, efficiently – afraid his boner would flag, maybe, or just bored. 

“Okay?” Rask asked, a little hesitantly. 

Bryan would have liked if Rask sounded a little more into it, but there was only so much you could ask of a guy who’d just lost a game. What came next would make up for it, Bryan hoped. “Ready.”

Rask took a moment to roll a condom onto himself. Then he leaned up along Bryan’s back. He planted his hands to either side of Bryan’s pecks, settling in, and then he lined himself up. “You’re sure.”

“I’m fucking sure, Rask, come on, put it—“

Rask put it in. Bryan groaned through the drag of it, until Rask was seated all the way in. “Fuck, yeah,” he said, with the last of his air. “Yeah, come on. Doing good.” He reached back awkwardly to pat Rask’s knee.

A puff of warm air hit the back of Bryan’s neck. Might’ve been a laugh; too close to call. “So fucking weird. Hold on, kid.” Rask pulled out, long and slow, and then thrust in again. This time he got Bryan just right, and Bryan saw stars. 

Hockey players did not, in Bryan’s experience, want to do things badly. Rask was not an exception to this rule so far. He found an angle that made Bryan groan, and he used it again, and again. Sometimes Bryan managed to push up and meet him halfway. Rask’s breath was quicker and quicker against Bryan’s spine, and his hair tickled Bryan’s neck.

Rask came suddenly, with a groan. His hips stuttered against Bryan’s, and then he collapsed onto Bryan’s back, heavy and warm, chest heaving with every breath.

“You came,” Bryan mumbled, half into the pillow. “I told you.”

A beat later, Rask laughed. “You weren’t wrong.”

Bryan smiled. Rask couldn’t see him, and anyway he was allowed, now. 

Too soon, Rask rolled off him. But not up, yet, so Bryan didn’t feel self-conscious about rolling over on his side and taking himself in hand.

“Hey,” Rask said, batting Bryan’s hand away. “My turn.”

Like Bryan would say no. Rask’s fingers were still a little slick from greasing Bryan up earlier, and they were nimble, practiced. His arm was heavy on Bryan’s ribs. Bryan closed his eyes and focused on the gentle friction of Rask’s palm, the lone line of heat he made at Bryan’s back. Now, finally, Bryan let himself think about that goal, the immediate crushing hugs afterward. The certainty with which he’d thrown it at the net, _knowing_ that this time he had Rask beat.

He came on a down stroke. He clenched through the aftershocks and then finally relaxed against Rask, spent in every sense. 

“Everything you wanted?” Rask asked.

“Mm.”

“Weird,” Rask pronounced one more time. Too soon, he shifted away from Bryan and sat up. Bryan rolled onto his back and watched Rask pull his sweatpants back on. Rask went to the little sink next, and came back with a warm rag and proceeded to clean Bryan’s spunk off his belly. “So, Rust,” Rask said. “You got away with it once, but I’m telling you, next time don’t ask for the fucking goalie.”

“Twice,” Bryan said. “First time was in the playoffs. End of the series, I blew Vasilevskiy.” Vasilevskiy might’ve also cried on Bryan’s shoulder a little bit, unrelated to the blow job, but that was no one’s business but theirs.

Rask’s terrifying eyebrows rose sky-high. His mouth slowly curved into a grin that transformed him into something nearer a sprite than a devil. That alone made the whole night worth it. “You’ve got balls, kid.”

Bryan grinned back. “I figure, if you like me, you’ll—you’ll let me score easier on you next time.”

Rask laughed outright. “Fat chance.”

“We’ll see.”

“You gonna blow _me_ next time?”

“We’ll see,” Bryan repeated. 

When Bryan got back to the changing room, Tommy was still there – fresh off a workout, if his red face was any indication. “Good time?” Tommy asked. “You give it to him hard?”

“Sure,” Bryan agreed, pulling on his jeans. “Just like that.”

[end]


End file.
